


details we both forgot to mention

by lotts (LottieAnna)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Boss/Employee Relationship, Dubious Ethics, M/M, Office Sex, Power Imbalance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-14 03:19:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LottieAnna/pseuds/lotts
Summary: It’s probably fucked up that the prospect of losing his job is what keeps Kyle from flirting back, and not his sense of what’s right and what’s wrong, but if the end result is the same, he figures there’s only so bad he can feel.(Or: Kyle wants to be a good boss, but Willy mostly just wants Kyle.)





	details we both forgot to mention

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pinkmanite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/gifts).



> IF YOU FOUND THIS THROUGH GOOGLING, KNOW ANYONE MENTIONED IN THIS STORY PERSONALLY, OR ARE MENTIONED YOURSELF: please, please click away. This is a work of fiction and nothing written in this story is true. Any accurate information used in this story is publicly available information about public figures, the rest is made up, 100%. Please keep this work confined to fan spaces and away from the eyes of the people mentioned herein!
> 
> pinkmanite, I loved your dear author letter SO MUCH and tried a billion ideas from it before settling on this one. hope you enjoy! thank you for all the writing you've done for this ship!!! 
> 
> thanks to a for the cheerleading, and c for the beta <3 title from "this kiss" by carly rae jepsen.

Kyle likes to think that he is a decent, ethical human being who works at a decent, ethical company, one that pays its interns and doesn’t dump toxic waste in rivers and doesn’t do any of the shitty marketing things that people usually associate with ad agencies. Granted, most of their marketing is pretty straightforward logo design, and half the job of his branch is matching artists to companies and letting them do their thing, but still, he’s not trying to sell cigarettes to children, or convince women they’re ugly so they’ll spend money, which, in his mind, puts him a world away from Don Draper, or whatever. 

And it’s not like it’s totally unselfish—as it turns out, corporations love to work with an ad agency that has a reputation for wholesome branding, which makes decency more or less just a solid business practice—but still. He’s under 35 and probably gonna be named CEO in a few years, and he’s done the fast-track without any ethical shortcuts. No blackmail, no cheating, just making sure his good ideas got heard. 

Not that he’d have been able to do that without his fair share of privileges and opportunities, and sometimes just plain luck, but— he’s a good dude, is the point, or at least, he tries to be. 

Unfortunately, doing the right thing has become something of a challenge, this summer. 

As if on cue, Willy walks into the office—not bothering to knock, as always—and says, “Hey, hot stuff, you’ve got a meeting in ten.” 

Kyle promptly turns a very unprofessional shade of red, but manages to resist the urge to look around and make sure no one heard that, because they’re in a closed office, and he doesn’t need to be paranoid, and anyway, it’s not like he’s responsible for the borderline-inappropriate nicknames his interns use. “Thanks, Will,” he says dutifully. “Anything else to report?” 

“I’ve gotten really good at post-it note origami,” Willy says automatically, giving Kyle this stupidly smug and painfully attractive grin. Kyle’s never really been sure what the rules of Willy’s weird mind games are, but he knows he’s usually losing. 

“I meant phone calls, notes, interdepartmental updates—” 

“Oh, yeah, no,” Willy says, waving him off. “None of that crap. But  _ origami—” _

“I’m sure it looks lovely,” Kyle says. “I’m glad you found a way to keep your hands busy.” 

“So am I. It gets pretty lonely out there,” Willy says, practically pouting. 

“Aren’t there three other interns who work adjacent to you?” Kyle says, clicking random desktop icons and hoping Willy assumes he’s reading a very important email, or something. 

“They’re like— meh,” Willy says. 

Kyle’s pretty sure that one of them is Willy’s best friend, but he bites his tongue, because there’s a chance he only knows that from some furtive Facebook stalking he did a few weeks back. “Well, there’s an intern mixer tonight, if you want to get to know your coworkers.”

“Really.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Kyle sees him raise his eyebrows. 

“Really,” he confirms. 

“And you waited until the last minute to invite me because…” 

“I’m not  _ inviting _ you,” Kyle says quickly, which is maybe a little too harsh, so he clarifies, “They sent out an email about it on Monday.” 

“Must have missed that one,” Willy says. “My b, man. Are you gonna show up?”

“It’s an intern mixer,” Kyle says flatly. 

“So?” Willy says. “I’m assuming you’re not gonna just dump the interns in a room and tell us to mingle. Did you not sign up for chaperone duty?” 

Kyle sighs. “Our intern coordination team organized the event, I’m really not involved in it. Depending on a few things, I’ll probably be too busy to stop by.” 

“Hot date tonight?” Willy says.

“Bye, Will,” Kyle says, standing up to not-so-subtly show him out the door.

“What if I said pretty please?” Willy asks, as Kyle opens the door. “Would you stop by then?” 

“When my 2:30 gets here, just send them in,” Kyle says. “You don’t have to page me or anything, because I’ll be expecting them— they tend to run about five minutes late, and they tend to linger, so just try and move them along fast, alright?” 

“You’re no fun,” Willy calls over his shoulder, and Kyle is proud of himself for only watching him walk away for a second before he turns around, walks back to his desk, and triple-checks that all the files for his upcoming meeting about the Tavares account are in order. 

…… 

Kyle suspects that Willy doesn’t strictly follow orders, because his 2:30 turns into his 2:45, and they spend the first ten minutes being very complimentary of his secretary. He’s not sure whether it’s because Willy hadn’t been listening, or liked the attention too much to care, but it’s not like it ruins the meeting, so Kyle would rank it pretty low on the list of problems William Nylander has caused for him. 

It’s not like Nylander’s a bad kid, or anything. He’s charming as hell, good at getting things done when he needs to, and is probably gonna get a job offer at the end of the summer for his efforts; he’s easily distracted, and kind of a smartass, but he’s never straight-up insubordinate. He’s good at walking lines without crossing them and manages to make everything he does look effortless, and those are skills that will get him far in life, Kyle thinks. 

The only real problem with him is that he’s sort of ruining Kyle’s life. 

It’s not even that he takes the flirting thing too far. He’s not making Kyle uncomfortable or being disrespectful, just— flirts casually enough, constantly enough, that Kyle can’t help but notice; plays it up sometimes, acts like a brat just enough that it makes Kyle feel weird and embarrassed, but backs off enough that Kyle can’t write it off as a joke. 

And the thing is, Kyle finds the kid fascinating, wishes he could pick his brain and find out what’s going on in his head once and for all, and on top of that, he’s obscenely pretty, with his blonde hair and pink lips and that smirk that Kyle wants to kiss off his stupidly beautiful face. 

It’s gross, and he knows it— he might be young for his job, but he’s still ten years older than Willy, and his  _ boss,  _ which are both things that Kyle is reminded of every time he signs off on the college credit form. Willy is a student, and his intern, and Kyle is walking on thin ice with the board as it is. If something were to happen and someone were to find out, he’d be fired in a heartbeat, and his dreams of being the youngest CEO in company history would be dashed. 

It’s probably fucked up that the prospect of losing his job is what keeps Kyle from flirting back, and not his sense of what’s right and what’s wrong, but if the end result is the same, he figures there’s only so bad he can feel. 

Right now, thankfully, he’s the only one in the office, which means he gets to work distraction-free. It’s maybe depressing that he’s still working at 10:30 on a Friday, but he wants to send out a press release first thing Monday, and he’s not above the occasional working weekend. The Tavares account is enough of a big deal to warrant it, for sure. 

Kyle sort of likes working late, if he’s being honest— he’s the kind of person who’s always had more than one major project at a time, and he feels antsy if he’s not working while the sun is setting, hasn’t ever been able to shake the feeling that he should be  _ doing _ something. Sheldon had complained about it endlessly when they were roommates, because Kyle is a pacer, and tends to talk to himself while he works, which probably hadn’t been all that easy to live with. But Shanahan has always liked Kyle’s work ethic, and Shanahan’s the one who’s in charge of promoting him, and considering Kyle and Sheldon haven’t been roommates in over half a decade, Kyle thinks Sheldon can stop complaining about his work habits. 

Apparently, that’s too much to ask, because when Kyle tells Sheldon he can’t come over for an impromptu boys’ night because he’s working late, Sheldon replies,  _ aren’t there interns for that?  _

_ not tonight,  _ Kyle replies, and then he follows it with,  _ also, interns hate working late.  _

_ and you don’t?  _ Sheldon sends. 

_ it’s like you don’t know me at all :(  _

_ you’ve never met you when you’re working late. you’re like a zombie.  _ Then,  _ if your face isn’t on the front page monday, i’m assuming you’re lying to get out of spending time with me.  _

Kyle smiles at his phone, because Sheldon’s one of his best friends, and he knows as well as Kyle does that they’ll probably end up watching baseball highlights and yelling at the announcers on TV before the weekend’s up. 

He’s about to text Sheldon as much, but he’s interrupted by a knock on his door, which is a little strange, but he figures that maybe the cleaning staff came late because of the intern mixer. 

“Come in,” he says, but when the door opens, it’s not any of the familiar faces of the custodial staff. 

Instead, Kyle sees William Nylander, shirt untucked and partially unbuttoned. He’s not wearing any shoes, his face is flushed, his hair is kind of tousled— he looks disheveled in the worst kind of way, the kind of way that makes Kyle’s brain short-circuit and his focus start to slip. 

“Oh,” Kyle says, probably a little dumbly. “Shouldn’t you be downstairs?” 

“I came up here to get some paper towels, but the supply closet was locked,” Willy says. 

“Did you want the key?” 

Willy shakes his head. “I made do in the bathroom,” he says. “One of the other guys threw up on my shoes.” 

“Ah,” Kyle says, and makes a mental note to maybe discourage alcohol at intern-centric events. “He okay?” 

“I think so,” Willy says. “I dumped him on his roommate when he drunk-dialed my ex, but they’re in a cab now, so.” 

“I don’t suppose you want to tell me who it was,” Kyle says. 

Willy’s face manages to give Kyle the most emphatic  _ no  _ he’s ever received. “I’m not gonna narc,” he says. “The event was over, and we stayed to clean up, so they told us we could have the leftover booze.” 

“That was… nice of you,” Kyle says. 

Willy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “I mean, take initiative, right? That’s how you get ahead.”

“It’s how you get free booze, evidently.”

“I wasn’t the one drinking it,” Willy says, putting his hands up. 

“Really,” Kyle says flatly. “Not a sip?” 

“Do you really think I’d come to your office if I’d been drinking?” Willy says. 

Kyle honestly doesn’t know if he would, is the thing; he’s never been sure which parts of Willy are exaggerated in his mind, by fear or want or some combination of the two. He knows Willy’s smart, knows Willy pushes barriers recklessly anyway, and he’s never been sure what his formula is for balancing those things, if he even has one.

“You should go home,” Kyle says, tearing his eyes away from where they’ve been staring at the crease in Willy’s forehead just a little too long. “It’s a Friday night.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be, so I figured I might as well see if you need help here,” Willy says. 

“I’m not going to ask you to work overtime hours that I can’t legally pay you for,” Kyle says. “It’s unethical.” 

“It’s not work,” Willy says. “I don’t care if you pay me. I’m just— offering to do you a favor, I dunno.” 

Kyle raises an eyebrow. “A favor.” 

“Yeah, just— as a friend.” 

_ We’re not friends,  _ Kyle thinks, but he can’t exactly say that without coming across as a dick. “It is beyond inappropriate for me to ask my interns to do me favors,” he says instead. 

“You didn’t ask, I offered,” Willy says. “I’ll even sign something, if you like.” 

“No,” Kyle says, trying to turn back to his work, but suddenly his eyelids feel heavy, his vision unfocused. It’s hard to get back on track after he’s been distracted for this long. 

Willy doesn’t even have the decency to leave and let Kyle try, just stands in the doorway, shirt still unbuttoned one button too far, hair falling in his face. 

“Um, are you… waiting for something?” Kyle asks. 

Willy blinks. “Uh, no, just— well, yeah, actually. My shoes.” 

“The ones your friend got sick on?” 

“Yeah,” Willy says. “I managed to get it all off, but they’re still drying.” 

“Ah,” Kyle says. 

“So I really don’t have anything better to do besides help you,” Willy says. “I mean, I could sit at my desk, but it’s kind of… creepy out there? All the lights are off, and it’s all empty, and—” 

“I’m not giving you extra work, Will,” Kyle says. 

“But—” 

“You’re welcome to bring your things in here and Snapchat, or Instagram, or— whatever it is your generation does. But as soon as you can leave, you’re leaving.” 

“So working late is a privilege that comes with being the boss?” Willy asks, sounding a little bit victorious, but like he’s trying to hide it, so Kyle lets it pass. 

“When you’re the boss, you can choose whether or not you want your personal time to become company time.” 

“So this, right now,” Willy says, gesturing with his hands, “This is company time, or personal time?” 

Kyle’s face goes hot, and he feels a little cornered all of a sudden— both by Willy’s words, and the fact that his face is at once curious and pleased and bratty and obscene. 

“I’m working,” Kyle says.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Willy says. “I forgot how easily distracted you are.” 

“I’m not—” Kyle rubs a hand over his face. “Go get your things, then sit quietly so I can finish this up and go.” 

“I thought you liked working late,” Willy says, tilting his head to one side. Kyle shouldn’t find his neck tantalizing, but he can’t help it— this whole thing feels a little like a dream, and it’s really fucking with his self control.  

“I never told you that.” 

“You didn’t have to,” Willy says simply, walking over to the edge of Kyle’s desk and carelessly pushing aside some papers—old press releases, maybe, but fuck if Kyle could remember right now—so he can perch on it. “I get it, though. It’s nice here at night.” 

Kyle takes off his glasses, cleans them on his tie; it’s mostly for something to do with his hands, and it only ends up moving dirt around, making it even harder to see. 

“The quiet is nice,” Kyle says, feeling small under the weight of Willy’s gaze. His intern is making him feel like a nervous kid, jesus fucking christ— Kyle should be past this, shouldn’t have let this happen in the first place.

“And the privacy,” Willy says, leaning over the desk and walking a hand slowly across the surface, moving post-its and pens at random. Kyle’s irritation at the mess is so muted, though, barely even registers compared to the way Kyle feels like he’s on fire. 

“Not total privacy,” Kyle manages to say. “Sometimes random interns wander in.” 

Willy smirks, and Kyle inhales sharply; it’s loud, and Willy has to notice it, and that’s probably the reason for the flash of  _ something  _ in his eyes that’s gone before Kyle can untangle it. “So you’ve had other interns bug you when you’re working late, then?” 

Kyle gulps. “Nope," he says. "You’d be the first.”

“Really,” Willy says. “Interesting.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Willy shrugs. “I dunno. I guess I figured they’d all be trying to get some one-on-one time with you.” 

“They do,” Kyle says. “Usually during work hours, though.” 

“Where’s the fun in that?” Willy says, suddenly hopping off the desk, and for a moment, Kyle’s relieved, until he realizes he’s walking around, shedding the last barrier between them. 

They’re in this so deep, and Kyle’s vaguely aware that there’s no turning back, and when he stands up, he’s not sure if it’s because of denial or acceptance. 

Honestly, all he really knows is that Willy’s standing really, really close to him, and his head is spinning a little bit from it. 

“Willy,” Kyle says, a little breathy, and Willy’s eyes are fucking twinkling as he tangles a hand in Kyle’s hair and pulls him in for a kiss. 

Kyle goes embarrassingly easily, or maybe he’d already been leaning in— he couldn’t really tell you, because it feels like both of them at once, crashing together and meeting somewhere in the middle, their lips fast and desperate right off the bat. There’s this pulse, a thumping rhythm of  _ wrong wrong wrong  _ beating through him, but damn if it doesn’t make this whole thing feel more  _ right.  _ The combination of knowing he shouldn’t be doing this and wanting to anyway— it makes this feel dirty and bad and absolutely incredible. 

“Fuck,” Willy pants against his mouth, and Kyle can’t— or he shouldn’t— 

But he can feel Willy now, when they’re pressed this close, and he’s hard and desperate. Kyle wants to,  _ needs  _ to— to push it further, to take him apart, to mess him  _ up.  _

“I’m gonna suck you off,” Kyle says, and the words are clearer, stronger than Kyle thinks they should be. “You want that? Wanna come in my mouth?” 

Willy doesn’t answer, just whimpers, and Kyle can feel his dick twitch against his thigh. 

“Yeah, you do,” Kyle murmurs, and he gives Willy one last kiss before he falls to the ground and hastily tugs at Willy’s belt. 

God, what is he— he’s on his goddamn knees in his office, desperate to get his intern’s cock in his mouth. There’s no way to be a good person about this, no way to spin it that’s not Kyle being weak and giving in just because he  _ wants.  _

Willy’s dick is already leaking precome by the time Kyle gets it in his mouth, and when he starts to move, Willy’s hips twitch a little, stuttery and arrhythmic. He’s making these noises, too, downright obscene and desperate, which— good. If Kyle has to feel this powerless, the least Willy could do for him is feel the same. 

As Kyle works, Willy just— keeps  _ talking,  _ doesn’t shut up, and Kyle absolutely loves it, because it doesn’t let him get too lost in what he’s doing to remember who he’s doing it with. The constant stream of chatter is annoying and unnecessary, but it’s filled with words that Kyle likes, and it’s just— it’s more of Willy, and Kyle feels like he’ll never have enough of him.

“You’re so—” Willy cuts himself off with a gasp. “ _ Good,  _ fuck.” 

Kyle hums around his dick in response, lets the praise wash over him. 

“You were made for this,” Willy says, which would be degrading if Kyle had the brain capacity to feel anything but turned on, right now. “I bet you were lying before. I bet you’ve had tons of interns like this.” 

That makes Kyle pause, and he pulls his lips off of Willy’s dick abruptly before looking up. “I don’t lie, William.” 

Then, he puts his mouth back on Willy, and listens as Willy’s words quickly turn into frantic half-apologies, then gasps, and— yes.  _ Yes.  _ This is what Kyle wants, and exactly how he wants it, terrible and evil and the opposite of everything he’s ever been, because this is how Willy wants  _ him.  _

Willy comes pretty quickly after that, like the only thing that had been keeping him off the edge of an orgasm was shattered in that moment. And it should be frustrating, or dissatisfying, to want someone for so long and have it cut short, but it’s really just… pretty hot, which is pretty much the story of Kyle’s life, or at least, this chapter of it. 

Whatever this chapter even was. 

Willy’s cheeks are red the next time Kyle sees his face, and Kyle quickly swallows his come, then stands up, giving Willy room to get himself sorted out again, pull up his pants and try to look like none of this ever happened, even though Kyle’s pretty sure that nothing will ever erase the memory of this from Willy’s face.

“Uh,” Willy says, looking a little dazed as he tucks in his shirt. “Did you want me to—” He gestures at Kyle. 

“No, no, that’s— fine,” Kyle says. “We shouldn’t— I mean, it’s getting late.” 

“And you have work—” 

“And your shoes are probably dry, so,” Kyle says, and then he clears his throat. “I’m probably going to be heading out soon, actually.” 

“Ah,” Willy says. “So I should, too.” 

“Probably,” Kyle says. 

Willy nods, then turns around and starts to walk out, and Kyle sits down at his desk, gathering his stuff up and trying to process what the  _ fuck  _ just happened, but before he even gets a chance to start, Willy turns around. 

“I’m not gonna get fired over this, right?” he asks. 

Kyle blinks. “Wh— no, that would be— of course not.” 

“Alright,” Willy says. “I’m not gonna tell anyone. Just so you know.” 

“That’s… probably a good idea,” Kyle says. 

“You use the word ‘probably’ a lot,” Willy says, and Kyle can’t tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. 

“Thanks,” he says dryly, and then he adds, “And, uh. Thanks.” 

“I think I’m the one who should be thanking you, considering you’re the one who—” 

Willy cuts himself off, but Kyle just holds his gaze, eyebrows slightly arched, waiting for him to finish the sentence. 

“—who, uh. Blew me.” Willy’s cheeks go pink.

Kyle looks down at his hands; it’s a lot harder to breathe, all of a sudden. “Well,” he says. “It wasn’t like I did it just for your benefit.” 

“Guess you didn’t,” Willy says, and his face does something complicated. “You’re welcome, then.” 

Kyle nods. “Glad that’s sorted.”

“Right,” Willy says. “Good night, then.” 

He hesitates for a second, turns around like he’s actually going to leave this time, but just as Kyle starts to think he’s finally going to have some alone time— 

“Look, I’m not offering because I think it’ll help me get promoted or something, but— if you ever want me to return the favor.” Willy shrugs. “I mean, you know where my desk is.” 

And Kyle should say no, because this was already too much, and the consequences have barely started to sink in, and even if nothing happens, Kyle will always have to live with the fact of what he did and what he risked— or, what  _ they  _ did, what  _ they  _ risked. 

It’s a bad idea, to answer that question, because he should say no, and he wants more than anything to say yes. Neither one of them feels like the right answer, though. 

“Good night, Will,” Kyle says, and with that, Willy walks out of the office. 

Kyle can’t see his face as he leaves, but he’s got a sinking feeling that, if he could, he’d find a familiar smirk looking up at him, wide-eyed, uninnocent, and tempting as ever. 

**Author's Note:**

> this is a dynamic with consent issues so please be warned! a boss has sex with his intern and is very aware of why he should not. there are brief offscreen references to alcohol. also, sheldon keefe makes the briefest of appearances. 
> 
> writing this reminded me that capitalism sucks! this workplace is an amalgam of real workplaces that was shaped for narrative convenience.


End file.
